


Damsel De-stress

by the-bloody-masquerade (Devil_Latte)



Category: Vampire: The Masquerade – Bloodlines (Video Game)
Genre: Belligerent Sexual Tension, Cunnilingus, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, Femslash February 2021, Jeanette being Jeanette, Just enough plot/narrative to justify the fucking, Light Dom/sub, Making Out In Public, Personal Attention, Will eventually contain..., taking a bath together
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-13 06:40:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29772171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Devil_Latte/pseuds/the-bloody-masquerade
Summary: Sometimes Damsel feels like she's the only person who gets anything done around here. Someone has to hold the Anarchs together. So its no surprise when the buck gets passed to her one night regarding a meet up and intelligence swap at The Asylum and of course, the bastard seems to have stood Damsel up. The stress is getting to her, and it has been so long since she's had the chance to cut loose and really relax. This perhaps makes her more susceptible to the wiles of a certain amorous Malkavian hostess. Jeanette Voerman is hellbent on making sure Damsel enjoys herself in her club even (and especially!) if it means attending to her personally...
Relationships: Damsel/Jeanette Voerman
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	Damsel De-stress

**Author's Note:**

> I really wanted to do something for Femslash February and here I am coming down to the wire, posting this hours before the end of the last day of February. Its not complete but at least some part of it was published in February, so, there's that.  
> Not a whole lot of canon character F/F ships or fics in the VTMB fandom. I'm hoping to help remedy that. Hope you enjoy.

The moment Damsel set foot in The Asylum, she wanted to leave. The pimply young kine with their black-and-neon bedraggled outfits annoyed her. The synth-heavy melodramatic drone set to flashing rainbow strobes gave her a figurative headache. This was not her scene.

And yet, against her better judgement, she forced herself to take up a position leaning against the bar, in plain sight of the rest of the club, fold her arms and wait.

She stuck out like a sore thumb, she supposed, dressed as she was in her less flamboyant attire. A simple graphic tee under a worn leather jacket, camo pants, shitkicker boots and her ever present antique green beret. Ironically, the Blush of Life actually made her more lifelike than most of the clubgoers, who through affect or lifestyle had complexions not unlike the undead. Her burgundy lipstick was about the only fashion choice she had in common with anyone in the room but no one would mistake her for one of these emo-goth kids.

Behind her, the bald and tattooed bartender called out to her over the din. “Can I getcha something, Red?”

“Fuck off,” Damsel said in the politest tone she could muster.

“Great… You have a nice evening too.” That was that.

It was so typical that she’d get settled with a job like this. The guys at the Last Round were all running around like chickens with their heads cut off trying to micromanage the latest development in the never ending Anarch street wars. All this while trying to beat back the stray Sabbat dogs with a rolled-up newspaper and keep the Camarilla off their front lawn. When contact had been made by a Kindred from a rival Anarch group wanting to go turncoat and make an offering of intelligence to sweeten the deal, no one had been available to meet the guy except for a certain redheaded Brujah with patience conversely proportional to her immortality.

With a huff, Damsel returned to probing the room for her guy. She was honestly hoping that he’d approach her and she wouldn’t have to be bothered trying to figure out which one of these scenester reprobates was supposed to be their latest recruit. He had named the venue after all.

Her attention waned and she ended up staring at the ceiling fans for a while. She was so over this.

“What have we here?” purred a voice near her elbow.

Damsel turned to find a blonde woman with pigtails and heavy eye makeup sizing her up like a shark that had caught the scent of blood, sharp teeth and all. It was Jeanette Voerman.

Damsel cringed. This was the nightmare scenario.

Damsel had never been inside The Asylum but was well appraised of the notorious reputation of its hostess. Jeanette Voerman, though nominally Anarch, was a known troublemaker, and more infamously, completely and unabashedly sex-crazed.

She was wearing a black miniskirt over fishnets, spiked ankle boots and some unholy combination of a bolero and bomber jacket. The garment was army green and long-sleeved, but the fabric of the torso ended abruptly at her ribs. The zipper was pulled down just below her breasts, and from the eyeful Damsel received of said features, it appeared that Jeanette wasn’t wearing anything under the jacket.

“Eyes up here, tiger,” Jeanette teased.

The Blush of Life caused Damsel’s face to feel like it was on fire. She hated it, and hated that Jeanette had coaxed any reaction at all out of her. She turned back towards the dance floor. “Go away, I’m busy,” she murmured sullenly.

“Is that what they call leaning against the bar, scowling, sucking all the fun out of the room like a milkshake through a silly straw?”

“I’m meeting someone, so fuck off.”

The club owner gave a little snicker. “That much is obvious, sweetie. Who is it? Boyfriend? Girlfriend? Fuck buddy? Or maybe a midnight snack?”

“None of your goddamn business!”

“Ohh, don’t tell me your working?” Jeanette pouted. “Will that meanie Mr. Rodriguez ever give Downtown’s darling Damsel a day off?”

Damsel faltered momentarily before rationalizing that yes, it was likely for Jeanette of all Kindred to know who she was. That she’d been recognized on sight still unnerved her. Recollecting herself, she forced a polite yet barbed smile Jeanette’s way. “So I guess introductions would be a waste of time. Look, I know I’m on your turf, but I will punch a bitch if you don’t leave me alone.”

Dauntless, Jeanette crept closer, placing a hand on the bartop behind Damsel and leaning in, a self-satisfied smirk curving her darkly painted lips. “Don’t snap at me kitten, with that razor tongue of yours. A legend walks into my club, you can’t blame me for being a little curious.”

The cheap praise glanced off Damsel like an errant ping-pong ball. She thought about remarking just how “legendary” Jeanette was herself, albeit in a very different way, but held her tongue and maintained her defensive posture, not giving in to Jeanette’s amorous assault.

“I’m in the mood for something spicy tonight. How about I show you a good time?”

Was this actually happening? Was she being propositioned by Jeanette fucking Voerman?

This close, Damsel could clearly see the club owners two-toned eyes glinting lasciviously in the strobing light as well as an eyeful of her ample breasts nearly spilling out of her top. God they were just _out there_ , weren’t they? In spite of herself, Damsel noticed the way the shifting colors of light would dye Jeanette’s porcelain flesh and cause shadows to dance around the generous curve of her breasts. It was mesmerizing.

Jeanette clicked her tongue. “Caught you looking again,” she cooed. “I don’t know Damsel, it sure seems like you like what you see…” 

Damsel felt the uncharacteristic heat again bloom across her face. “Oh, fuck off!” Refusing to waste another second on Jeanette, Damsel charged into the throng of bodies heaving on the dance floor. She roughly shoved her way through to the other side, ignoring the inane cries of “Dude!” and affronted moaning as she made her way across. Once free of the sea of bodies, she mounted the stairs to the balcony.

She knew it was stupid to think she would lose Jeanette in the latter’s own club, but maybe her retreat would hammer in her lack of interest. Or just ignite Jeanette’s desire to chase her down. Jesus Christ, where was this new recruit she was supposed to find.

She glanced about the balcony for anyone matching the description of the Kindred in question. She saw nothing but the usual fare of pasty youths caked in makeup and dark colors.

Well, if this meetup was so important to the fucker, _he_ could find _her_ for all she cared. She took a seat at one of the small high tables littering the balcony and glared down onto the dance floor.

The small handful of people occupying the balcony shied away from her, so seething was her aura. She hadn’t even needed to employ Prescence, but she was glad to be given the space.

A flicker of movement drew Damsel’s attention to the dark alcove behind her. It seemed there were some oblivious to her foul mood, and two such people were pressed up against the wall, vigorously making out. They were a tangle of movement and body parts seemingly trying to merge into one entity. In lulls of the club’s booming soundtrack Damsel could hear their lascivious moans and was afraid that clothes might start coming off.

Stiffly, Damsel turned the other way and tried to ignore them, despite the way the display was making her _feel things_. The suggestive seed had already sprouted in her brain. 

God, it’d been so long since she’d gotten laid. Been so long since she’d done anything nice for herself. With tensions ramping up in LA, the Camarilla, Sabbat, and rival Anarch gangs all knocking on the Last Round’s door, Damsel had been pulling double time just to keep everything patched together. This left very little time for adult fun times.

She tried to eject the copulating couple from her mind and instead found herself backsliding into a related subject: Jeanette Voerman’s tits.

Damsel still seethed with rage at that self-satisfied smirk Jeanette had given her “ _seems like you like what you see_.” Jackass. Or maybe Damsel was more enraged by the notion that Jeanette’s observation might have been dead on.

So the bitch had great tits, so what? And maybe Damsel had been a little horny lately. It wasn’t like she was sizing up Jeanette fucking Voerman for the job. That would be fucking idiotic.

By all accounts, Jeanette was a gifted playmate, but Damsel wasn’t interested in becoming a feature of Kindred gossip, as so many of Jeanette’s partners became. Some people took a great amount of pride making their way into Jeanette fabled little black book. The notion didn’t appeal to Damsel in the slightest. Absolutely not. Out of the question.

Where the fuck was this guy she was supposed to meet?

As Damsel warred with her thoughts, three men emerged behind her on the balcony, none of them looking the part of a regular patron of the Asylum. Too little makeup. Too much dinge and utility to their drab clothes. The three came to a sudden stop spotting Damsel’s red hair and green beret. One of them indicated her to the others. They traded a few furtive glances and hushed words with each other, then pressed forward towards her.

A figure swept past them, closing in on Damsel before they had the chance.

Jeanette was in Damsel’s lap before the men were halfway across the balcony.

“What the fuck?!” Damsel hissed.

“Oh, my little lost kitten, I found you! Mama was starting to worry.”

“Get the fuck off my lap!”

“Or what?” Jeanette glanced over Damsel’s shoulder to see the three men wavering. The apparent leader, some nobody Kindred whose pale aura reeked of resentfulness made brief eye contact with the Malkavian hostess. Jeanette gave them a fanged smile.

The thugs slunk into the dark edges of the balcony, not a true retreat it seemed. They were going to try to bide their time. Jeanette smirked. She loved an audience.

“Or I’ll deck you in the mouth, that’s what!” Damsel snarled.

“Ooh! You in my mouth? Sounds like a treat to me.”

The brazen line disarmed Damsel instantly. “That’s not--!”

Jeanette hushed her, and despite herself Damsel obeyed. She sat, red-faced, in sullen and perhaps yet stunned silence. The club owner was straddling her, and now wrapped her arms around Damsel’s neck, fingering at strands of her auburn hair. Damsel’s eyes flickered to the magnificent breasts that quite literally in her face by this point, before nervously raising her gaze.

Jeanette licked her lips. “I think you like me here, kitten. Those blood flushed cheeks of yours don’t lie.”

At this, her words and closeness, Damsel reddened even more.

“I’d say ‘cat got your tongue?’ but then, I wonder if you’d let me be the cat…”

Damsel felt a prickle go down her spine at the suggestion.

“Just one little kiss?” Jeanette said softly into Damsel’s ear.

Damsel finally found her voice. “Is that what it’s going to take to get you to leave me alone?”

“Is that really what you want?” Jeanette cooed. “Okay, little wildcat, kiss me. If you can look me in the eye afterwards and tell me you’re still not interested then I promise I’ll leave you alone for good.”

What an arrogant bitch, Damsel thought. So used to having people drooling over her. Damsel could only imagine the look of utter shock on her face when she called her bluff. After the hostess’ dogged pursuit, Damsel would relish it. And it would be easy because it wasn’t like Damsel was actually attracted to Jeanette. Damsel’s horny mood could be remedied in any number of ways that would leave her dignity intact. She had nothing to lose and the satisfaction of a very hilariously pissed Malkavian to gain.

“You’re on, bitch,” Damsel said, grabbing the sides of Jeanette’s head and bringing her in. It was a very aggressive kiss, eliciting a little squeak of surprise from Jeanette, but in seconds Jeanette returned in kind.

The spectacle of their kiss was not lost on the other clubgoers. Those nearby in the balcony turned to ogle the lip-locked pair. Whoops and wolf-whistles rang out.

But Damsel, at least, was sufficiently distracted. The fierceness with which Jeanette returned her kiss, the way she grabbed the small of Damsel’s back and pulled her close, the way she grinded herself against Damsel’s lap...

Something was happening that Damsel didn’t account for. Her temporarily reanimated pulse quickened. Prickles of heat gathered in the places where Jeanette touched her. She was remembering what it felt like, realizing how _long_ it had been. 

Oh fuck…

She was going to lose the bet.

The instant Damsel knew her fate was sealed, Jeanette pulled away. She rose to her feet and smirked at Damsel. “Well?” She extended a hand to Damsel. “Will you come with me upstairs, kitten?”

Damsel stared at the proffered hand, mentally reckoning with herself. Seconds trickled by.

“God _damn_ it!” she hissed at last, then stood. “Lead the way.”


End file.
